The First Annual Hunger Games
by The Mediocre Papyrus
Summary: Sparrow and Thrush Greene are fourteen-year-old twins from District 11, and are inseparable. After the Dark Days, a new event was imposed - The Hunger Games, in which 2 children from each District are forced to fight to the death. What will Sparrow and Thrush do when they are both chosen as the District 11 tributes? Will they fight together or apart?


**_Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins does._**

* * *

I hate Panem.

Pamem was once the country known as North America. When the country fell, Panem rose from the ashes. Panem consisted of thirteen districts, each district manufacturing a different substance. My District, District 11, is the District of agriculture. The Districts surrounded the capitol city, aptly named The Capitol. The Districts lived in peace for many years; that is, until the Dark Days.

The Districts all rebelled against the Capitol. The Capitol won - Districts One through Twelve were defeated. District 13 was completely obliterated. And now, as revenge against us for trying to take their power from them, The Capitol has started The Hunger Games.

In The Hunger Games, one boy and one girl, aged between 12 and 18, will be chosen from each District. They will be put into an arena and fight to the death until one person remains. Twenty-three will go in, one will come out. As if it couldn't get any worse, the whole thing will be televised. Parents will watch in horror as their own child is brutally murdered by another, who may or may not be crowned victor.

And today is the day that all the children will be chosen.

* * *

"Hey, Thrush! Think fast!"

My twin brother turns his head at the sound of my voice, then ducks rapidly as I hurl a piece of branch at him. I hop down from the tree, laughing, as he dusts himself off and tries (and fails) to scowl at me.

"Sparrow!" he complains, though he is grinning. "When are you going to stop tricking me with that?"

"Only when you stop falling for it," I tell him, picking up my stick and brandishing it at him. "Come on, Thrushie. We need to practice."

"Why, though?" Thrush says to me as I scramble back up the tree. "Our name's only been in those bowls a few times each. We have some of the lowest chances in the District of being chosen."

I glance at him as he quickly scales the tree and sits down beside me. "I know, Thrush," I tell him. "But even so, there's always a chance. What if we are chosen? We need to be prepared if we want to escape those Games alive."

He sighs. "I know you're right, Sparrow," he says, absent-mindedly breaking off a branch and twirling it between his long brown fingers. "It's just ... I don't want to think about the Games. I don't want to think about going into an arena and having to kill innocent people. I just ... don't."

"Trust me, bro," I say, putting an arm around him. "Neither do I. But we have to accept it as an inevitability. We might be going into the Games, and if we do, we need to be able to fight."

He nods, and we both hop down from the tree, landing lightly on our feet. Ever since the Games were announced some time last year after the Dark Days ended, Thrush and I have trained hard every day.

We pick up our branches and start a sort of duel with them, parrying and blocking each other's attacks. I then grab one of the branches hanging over my head and swing from it, kicking out at Thrush's torso. He dodges and swipes at my feet with his branch, but I manage to pull them away in time. Once I do, I hurl my branch down at him forcefully. He yelps and tries to duck, but before he can, the branch strikes him in the chest by the point, sending him staggering backwards. Taking advantage of this, I once again swing from the branch and kick him hard in the chest, knocking him to the ground. I then jump down beside him, pick up my branch, and hold it just above his throat with the tip pressing into his Adam's Apple.

"Any last words, Swine?" I ask in a mock-threatening voice.

"Just this ... " says Thrush in a ridiculously campy injured voice, " ... Fuck you."

Laughing, I pull him to his feet. "Good game, Thrushie," I tell him as I sling my arm across his shoulders. "I hope I didn't kick your butt too hard." He rolls his eyes before putting his arm around my shoulders. "Shut up, Sparrow," he says, but he has a grin on his face. As we walk back to the house for breakfast, he gives my mop of long, unruly black hair an affectionate ruffle. He, like me, has our father's darker skin tone and messy black hair, though he has our mother's clear blue eyes. My eyes are dark brown, the same eyes our father and our younger sister, Lark, have.

Thrush and I have been inseparable since we were babies. We're each other's best friend. We do everything together. We can tell each other anything. That's why we always train - even the mere thought of losing Thrush makes me sick to my stomach, and the same with him. When the games were announced, we both swore a pact that if either of us were called, we would do anything we could to get out of there alive.

* * *

"So, how was training?" Mom asks as she doles out servings of porridge for breakfast. The porridge is thin and bland, more lukewarm water than anything else, but it's still food and I'm still hungry, so I eat it appreciatively.

"Good," said Thrush through a mouthful of oats. "Sparrow's getting really good at spear-throwing, not to mention her agility."

"And you're fantastic at fencing," I add, pointing at him with my spoon. "You almost impaled me five times!"

Dad chuckles as he feeds spoonfuls of porridge to one-year-old Lark. "You two are both fantastic fighters for fourteen-year-olds," he says. "If either of you are called into those Games, I feel bad for the other tributes."

Mom shoots him a glare and he looks uneasy, as if only just realising the severity of what he just said - and indeed, the severity of what's happening in just a few short hours. Thrush glances at me from across the table and reaches for my hand, which I squeeze appreciatively.

* * *

Once we've finished working in the orchards my family owns, we go inside to get changed. Mom takes me into her room and brushes my hair, turning it from a tangled mop into a waterfall of wavy, ink-black hair. She then pulls a sleeveless scarlet dress with a straight skirt over my head. It's a lovely dress, silky and covered in a weaving gold pattern. It almost distracts from the grave occasion it's being worn for.

"What do you think, sweetheart?" Mom asks as she leads me over to a mirror. I grin by way of answering. The dress really looks lovely on me- it hides my small, bird like figure and makes my pale brown skin look to be glowing.

"I love it!" I say, turning to Mom and hugging her tightly. "Thank you, Mom."

"You're welcome, Sparrow," Mom says, returning the hug. She then releases me and bends down slightly to my level - as short as Thrush and I are, Mom is only just taller than us. "Sparrow - if you do go into that arena - Just remember, it doesn't matter if you kill anyone. Just think of it as - self defence."

"And if I'm killed?" I say. "Mom, I know I'm a good fighter, but there will be twenty-three other tributes in the arena. At least one of them's bound to be better than me."

Mom breathes in sharply, and softly touches my cheek. "Let's not think like that," she says, before kissing my forehead. "Now let's go."

* * *

The whole District is gathered in the square, staring up at Mayor Jackson on the stage as he reads the origin story of Panem. Once he's done with that, he speaks of the rebellion against the Capitol, the defeat of the Districts and the Treaty of Treason, which brought in many new laws, most of them unfair and cruel, merely a way of punishing us for rebelling. And now we have the most cruel new rule of all, The Annual Hunger Games.

Once he's finished, the escort for District 11, who introduces herself as Lotus Blossom, takes his place and says into the microphone "Greetings District 11, to the reaping of the very first Hunger Games!" She ends on a giggle. Of course, she sees nothing wrong with forcing children to murder one another. Why would she? She's from the Capitol. If the Capitol thinks something is OK, then everyone should think so.

It's time for the drawing. Lotus walks over to the glass ball with the girl's slips inside of it. I think of the three slips of paper in there that have my name on them, and am suddenly filled with a cold dread. I know what name she's chosen, even before the first syllable passes her yellow-painted lips.

"Sparrow Greene!"

I can't look behind me. I hear Dad gasp in horror. I hear Mom let out a sob. I hear Thrush whisper "No!" I can't look at them. I can't.

I make my way to the stage, my feet feeling like lead weights. I stand beside Lotus and stare at my feet, unable to look up at the crowd and see my family, knowing that their daughter is being sent to her death.

"The female tribute for District 11, Sparrow Greene!" Lotus calls out, expecting a round of applause. There is none. I think, now, everyone in the District has truly realised what's happening, what these Games mean. And they take protest in their silence, showing they don't approve of what's happening.

"Now, before we move along to the boys, are there any volunteers for Sparrow?" Silence. Nobody in the District wants to take my place. I can't say I blame them.

As much of a nightmare as this has been, nothing in the world could prepare me for what happens next. I feel a crushing pain in my chest, as if somebody's dropped an anvil on my chest, when Lotus reads out the name of the male tribute.

It's Thrush Greene.


End file.
